"Aren't you a little old for stories?" Qui-Gon
asked. His voice was low and quiet, in keeping with bedtime rituals for Padawans.

"No way! Everything's a story if you look at
it the right way. I bugged all of the star-pilots in Mos Espa for stories,
see? Theirs were the best. But I figure that Jedi have a lot more adventures,
so you probably know scads of great stories. I want to hear them all."

"Very well," Qui-Gon acquiesced. "I don't know
all of the stories, Ani, but I do know a few. What kind of a story would you
like to hear?"

"One with you and Obi-Wan."

"I will tell you such a story, and then you
will sleep."

"Sure."

Qui-Gon cast his mind back in time for a past
mission that would interest his young audience without providing too much
stimulation before sleep. He was accustomed to telling tales to a much younger
audience in the crêche--an audience that preferred tales of quiet dragonflies
or snooty garden flits that served the Force. All too often, the Master/Padawan
pairing in question had experienced missions that had been far too... stimulating.

"Every year, the Council sponsors an Apprentice
Art Competition," Qui- Gon began. "Some Padawans paint while others draw.
Some sculpt while others carve. Every year, Obi-Wan would dutifully, if reluctantly,
enter this competition even though he thought he could never win. To avoid
any chance of favoritism by the judges, the entries are assigned numbers rather
than names."

"What sort of art did he do?"

Qui-Gon looked stern. "Don't interrupt. I'll
get to that. The year that Obi-Wan was twenty, he barely had time to finish
his entry before we were called to depart on yet another emergency mission.
He literally had to race through the corridors to get the piece entered before
we departed. I didn't see his entry beforehand."

"Did you get to see the other stuff he entered
the other times?"

"Yes. This particular year, I went to the landing
platform and demanded that our pilot wait for my Padawan, something she did
with ill-grace. Obi-Wan barely made it up the entry-way to strap himself in
before we lifted off. The mission briefing absorbed us after that, and I didn't
give the competition or Obi-Wan's entry another thought until after the mission.
I suspect that he didn't, either.

"A few days after we'd returned to the Temple,
Mace Windu fell into step beside me in the hall and asked if I'd seen Obi-Wan's
entry. 'How do you know it's Obi-Wan's?' I asked. 'It can be no other's,'
came the enigmatic answer, along with a smirk that was rather startling to
see on Master Windu's face."

Anakin grinned, white teeth gleaming in the
half-light. "Yeah, he's not a smiley kind of a guy, is he?"

"He is not," Qui-Gon agreed. "And yet Mace insisted
upon escorting me to the gallery where the entries were on display. The judges'
decision had been announced only that morning, mere hours before our return.
I doubted that Obi-Wan had heard who had received what prizes.

"Master Windu led me through the maze of mounted
displays, past numerous collages, sculptures, moving mobiles, bronzes paintings,
drawings. The groupings were by medium, and so it was that he led me to the
back of the gallery, to the small space containing the mounted drawings created
by the few Padawans who had chosen to work in what is considered an archaic
medium."

"Obi-Wan DRAWS?"

"He does, indeed," Qui-Gon confirmed. "Mace
led me to stand before the piece my Padawan had entered that year. It was
a detailed pencil drawing, fairly small but exquisitely detailed. It was different
from all of the others, in emotion as well as execution.

"My Obi-Wan had depicted the height of a raging
hurricane. Trees were bent low under lashing winds and a driving rain that
felt cold and bitter just to look at it. Lightning slashed across a threatening
bank of black clouds, boiling with fury. Dead center of this naked violence,
Obi-Wan had placed a shallow overhang of jagged rock, with barely enough room
beneath for a man to kneel.

"A Jedi Master was crouched there, his robes
and arms wrapped protectively around a Padawan whose thin arms were, in turn,
wrapped tight around the Master's neck even as his face was buried in the
Master's shoulder. Looking at the drawing, I felt the boy's shivering terror
as though it had been my own. The Master himself held the boy as close as
possible in the circle of his arms, waiting serene and unruffled for the storm
to pass.

"The drawing was entitled, very simply, 'Peace,'
and I was startled to recognize my own features in the Master's. The young
apprentice's face was hidden, but I remembered the curve of those arms, knew
the length of the braid, and remembered that hurricane all too well. I got
a glimpse, then, of how Obi-Wan had seen me in those days, Ani. Perhaps how
he still saw me, years later. It humbled me."

Anakin nodded and considered that confession.
"How old was he in the drawing?"

"Barely thirteen, and small for his age. We'd
been together less than six months then, and while he'd fought draigons bravely
at my side and had even faced down a former apprentice who had fallen to the
dark, Obi- Wan had been terrified of the howling wind and the endless sheets
of icy rain that had poured over us. We had been trapped on Kolihor during
that mission, or peacemaking efforts rejected by the warring clans. We'd been
driven out of their small, safe enclave, had been made to wait through the
night and the storm for our transport to arrive."

"Wow. What happened next?"

"Mace left, and I stared at the drawing for
a long time. Eventually, I realized that there was a blue ribbon hanging beside
it; Obi-Wan had won the competition. I took the ribbon and went home. Obi-Wan
was just emerging from his evening meditation, and I hugged him within an
inch of his life. He hugged me back, startled. I felt his startlement turn
to concern when he realized I was crying. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

"I gave him the ribbon and watched his eyes
widen as he took in its meaning. Out of four hundred Padawans in the Temple,
he had won. It was his turn to cry when realization dawned."

"Sort of like winning a pod race on Malastere?"

"Sort of," agreed Qui-Gon. "We talked for a
long time that night, remembering the hurricane and sharing other memories.
That storm drew us closer in ways that neither of us could have ever foreseen
all those years ago."

Qui-Gon shifted on the bed, his glowing blue
form casting eerie shadows on the wall, the half-finished pit droid propped
against the footboard and the small dresser beside it. Leaning forward, the
Master tucked the blankets more firmly around Anakin's shoulders.

"As am I." He gave the blankets a final pat.
"Sleep well, Anakin. I'll see you tomorrow."

Rising to his feet, Qui-Gon straightened his
robes before pacing through the closed door and down the short corridor leading
to Obi- Wan's sleep-chamber. Gliding into the darkened room, the Master turned
and gestured to the closet door. It slid back soundlessly, laying bare the
few possessions Obi-Wan kept. Bending over, Qui-Gon shoved aside the knight's
spare robes and dug deep into the closet. Straightening with his prize, he
pulled the carefully stored drawing from its protective plastine wrapper and
stared down at it. The ribbon had long since been lost, but the sketch remained
as it had been not so many years ago, when Qui-Gon had first seen it.

Crossing to Obi-Wan's small writing desk, Qui-Gon
propped the drawing between the stand holding his former Padawan's lightsaber
and the wall. Balling up the plastine wrapper, the Master tossed it into the
waste receptacle beside the desk. Satisfied with his work of the evening,
he approached the bed to stare down at Obi- Wan's sleeping form. Settling
on the bed, he traced the younger man's cheek with a finger.

DISCLAIMERS: Blood Ties and its characters/teleplays are the property
of Tanya Huff, Insight Film, Chum TV, Kaleidoscope Entertainment and, their
associates and license holders. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the
Series and their characters/teleplays are the property of Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, UPN, 20th Century-Fox and, their associates and license holders. Star Wars: The Phantom Menace and all character names are
the acknowledged trademarks of George Lucas and Lucasfilm. Lord of
the Rings and all character names are the acknowledged trademarks
of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate and/or its licensees. Character and other creative
elements from these respective works are used on this site without permission
for entertainment, not-profit purposes only. This site contains only fan-produced
fiction and artwork which intend no copyright infringement.No
money is collected or made off of anything on this site. Everything here
is fictional (this means it never happened). Any resemblance to persons
living or dead is entirely coincidental. By entering this site, you agree to hold the author and website owner completely blameless and liable for absolutely nothing.